For the Glory of the Queen
by A Starr Is Reborn
Summary: The timelines are skewed, everything changes. The monarchs of lore - Snow White and Prince Charming - are dead, and have been for many years. Their daughter is all that remains, and she gave up the throne long before she ever came of age to inherit it. Instead she trains to be the protector for the future queen, her younger cousin - the ever beautiful Regina. AU, OOC


**Joan Jett makes my vagina explode…**

**About this little idea… Charming is an idiot. Snow is annoying. Henry (Jr.) is a twat. But I DO adore Swan Queen. I might not own Once but I own this craptastic work of… arguably-literature.**

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At the tender age of seven, Emma White – sole heir of the White Lineage – was left orphaned. By tragic accident (one which would later be discovered as the result of foul play), the lives of her parents were stolen away and she was left… alone. Utterly alone. Her mother's parents were long dead, years before she had ever been born they had passed away; and her father, well, his story was a bit more difficult.

He was not a biological prince, merely a boy that had been raised by a royal. So his true family, the blood which was his own blood and therefore _her_ own blood, they were lost to the dregs of this world and the complications of magical favors. His adopted parents shunned him, for eloping with Snow and taking the name White.

All she had left was an uncle that was not really an uncle. He had been _"related"_ to her father. The younger brother of her father's adoptive father. Not technically her blood, not really her family, and yet he had been the only one in the world to stand by her side at the grand funeral for the lost monarchs.

He'd let a heavy hand to rest upon her shoulder, and with deadened eyes she'd glanced up at him. He had a receding hairline of dark, course curls, and deep eyes that shone with tears she would not allow herself to shed. He hadn't offered her any watery smiles, and she had returned the favor, likewise. She'd turned back to face the burial, and he'd looked over her shoulder. No words were exchanged that day, but she knew that he was there for her. _Some part of her knew that he would continue to be._

Despite that he was only very loosely related to her, and to her parents, he was the next to take over the throne. In all actuality, she highly approved of the promotion. He was a good, kind-hearted and gentle man, the closest she could compare to the pureness of heart that her own parents had had. He was perfect for the throne. His wife, her aunt, however, was nothing like he was. When he had swept her into his home, with smiles and sweet promises of safety and love, she had her first encounter with her aunt.

_Cora_.

Instantly, and without her having to say a single word, Emma found herself disliking the woman immensely. The whole of her just seemed so… _horrible._ Her mouth was tight, face pinched, somehow managing to look displeased, assaulted by a rather disgusting smell, and plagued by a stomach ache all at once. Her eyes were dark, much like Uncle Henry's – but hers were dark by nature, not color. Dark, and very-much cold as ice. She spoke and whatever warmth Henry had managed to kindle within her broken heart instantly cooled.

By the time Emma was of the age of nine, she had given up her rights to the throne and all that it entailed. Cora was not only cold and cruel, but a witch. Combined with her perfectionist attitude and her abhorrence for learnings in the art of combat, Emma could not _stand_ trying to put up with her judgments. She was not enough of a lady, she hadn't the poise or the patience; she was missing the perfectly fake princess smile. She was more rough-and-tumble, she was hot-headed and better known for her scowl than her smile. So she'd just given up her rights, insisting that Regina – _the child of Cora and Henry, her sort-of cousin, almost sister_ – was perfect for the job. And she was. She was calm, with a passion for learning and the people; she liked dresses and she did as she was told exactly; she had a smile sweeter than sugar, it melted the hearts of the people. _Of course they adored her._

Regina had been very young then, not quite six but soon to be. Her mother had just gotten her started on the long journey of her life as a princess, as a future monarch. Even before Emma had given away her title, Cora had been planning for it, for _her_ child to take the throne. Emma didn't mind. She was just satisfied with the fact that she would no longer have to deal with Cora... well, not as much. _It was good enough; _she could instead focus the full of her attentions on more important things like swordplay and archery.

At age eleven Emma became a hero… of sorts. It was the day before Regina was due to turn eight and Cora was… a cruel bitch of a witch. She'd imbued herself with the power of magic and struck the poor girl. When Emma stumbled across them, Regina was crying softly and cupping one small hand over her mouth. Magic glowed around the tips of Cora's bony fingers, swirling within her eyes. Her voice rang with the power of it; it made Emma's hair stand nearly on end, just walking into the miasma of magical power practically fogging the room.

Emma bravely stood before Cora once she caught sight of Regina, of the terror in her watery brown eyes. She had her father's eyes, deep and dark and full of emotion and Emma couldn't just… walk away. She'd tried to, but her body, her mind, and her heart refused to allow it. She blamed it on the nature of her parents; they were heroes through and through, and if there was to be anything she'd inherit from them, it would have to be that. On that day, she made a promise, a deal. She would train to be the future Queen's knight. Her training would begin then. It would involve taking the punishments deemed necessary for Regina, because no Queen should bear the mark(s) of pain upon her body. A knight was more suited for sporting a story carved into flesh.

Cora deemed it necessary that Regina still watch, despite Emma's protests otherwise. A Queen, she insisted, must be aware of the consequences of every action she has taken. For that time, for the first time of her punishment, Emma refused to cry out, refused to flinch, and kept her gaze locked up with Regina's. A smile, forced, graced her features. Regina had continued to cry silently. The lesson she'd learned that day had been this: heroism is a joke. To subject one's self to the trials and tribulations related with being a hero, someone's savior, was entirely not worth what one received in return for volunteering. _Still, she never regretted what she'd done that day._

Emma began to lose faith in the love of her family then, for Henry knew what his wife was, what she _did_… and he did _nothing._ That was the day that Emma took to heart Cora's words, _love is weakness._ Power was strength, and she swore on all that she was and all that she would be to obtain power to stop this woman, this _tyrant_ before her life ended.

And finally, Emma was eighteen. She found at this time that she _hated_ her family. Henry, for his weakness of will. Regina, for being such an imperfect _brat _– she'd adopted that name for her some time ago, and couldn't seem to shake it from her vocabulary – that managed to get her punished almost every other day, it seemed (or so it had been for a short while. And Cora, for being so heartless as to actually _whip_ her. Plus, she had this way of healing wounds so you'd not bleed out; it left scars, and the then-old wound throbbing something _awful_.

Regina had grown beautiful in all the time that she'd known her. Emma was hard-pressed to simply ignore it, as the girl seemed to be utterly fascinated by her. Constantly following her around, trying to start up conversations, hanging off of her at nearly every chance presented. Emma hated that more than she hated the fact she'd get punished for it. _A lady should not involve herself with a lowly, ugly, scarred knight. _She hated it, mostly, for the fact that it unsettled her in a way she couldn't quite understand. It made her feel odd, almost sick, sort-of nervous, flustered. She hated herself almost as much as she hated this family she'd been integrated into, because here she was, raised to be something of an older sister, harboring queer affections for her younger sister.

_In all fairness, the girl was of age, quite beautiful, and OBVIOUSLY interested._ And the girl wasn't _actually_ related to her by blood. Not that it mattered, if Emma was caught doing… _anything_ remotely friendly with Regina, she would be punished. And it would not be Regina's punishment which she was taking on, but her own punishment for daring to associate with one of a higher class – despite that she was once a royal herself. _Cora was very strict and specific about class separation_. Which was another reason why Emma preferred that Henry was the one in power.

On that particular day, Emma had been practicing with a guard of the manor. For some reason, Henry had never moved into the castle after her parents' passing, but she never bothered to wonder about it; only bothered to appreciate the gesture as his attempt to pay respects. She'd been wearing a chainmail shirt, as had her partner. Practice could still be very deadly if one were not too careful, after all. Her cheeks were flushed with the pleasure and exertion of battle, sweat beading upon her brow. She was showing a rare smile, though, even laughing at times. Battle and blades, they were some of her true joys of life; that which she could unashamedly take pleasure in. Had Emma known that on that particular day, she would be receiving the greatest punishment she'd _ever_ had to receive, she might have waited to practice.

As it were, one moment she'd been preparing to block a very obvious strike aimed for her face – _why, _she wondered_, had she foregone a helmet?_ – and the next her sword was dropping from her hands as she jerked harshly and let out a short yell of pain. Fire, or what felt very much like it, erupted over her back, from shoulder to hip. _Once, twice, thrice_ in less time than it took her to blink. Unable to defend herself, her partner tried to draw back, lessen the blow or completely miss her. Still, it managed to slice through the flesh of her face. As she fell to her knees, shaking and trying to keep herself together, hot blood ran into her eyes, blinding her. Panic washed through her, more fire burning her back. She didn't know what was going on, and she could hardly hear over the roar of blood in her ears. She could distinctly make out the sound of chainmail tearing in accordance with the pain shooting through her. _What was attacking her, killing her?_ She couldn't even get out a confused cry before she was pushed face first into the dirt. Her body was made to be immobile by that point, and panic had given way to fury. _She'd done nothing, and surely Regina had done NOTHING._

Never was she punished twice for the same thing, for Regina was her father's child and her compassion would drive her to her limits if only she could go without having to see Emma in pain, bleeding for her, dying for her. And all the times she had been punished so that Regina, too-beautiful Regina could remain too-beautiful – except for the first scar, the only scar, the one on her lip that somehow made her even _more_ beautiful – surely they had run out of things to do wrong. Surely more punishment could not be had because no more crimes against Cora's sensibilities had been committed._ But she was wrong, _in the next moment she gained clarity, as her mind and body caught up with the situation, as she blearily blinked blood from one of her eyes (the other was positively drowning in it), she saw the horror on the tear-stained face of the princess.

She was yelling, screaming; the sounds seemed muffled, far away as another wave of magic ripped into the tender, bloodied skin of Emma's back, the chainmail falling into pieces – along with the tunic she had worn underneath – to the ground. She was usually so good at containing herself when it came to pain. _But it had been so very long since she had last been punished, perhaps nearing a year._ So this time, this was one of the few times she screamed… _or well, at first._ She managed to gain control of herself halfway through the punishment – and what that really meant was that she had started to grow numb, vision hazy, and found herself without the energy to cry out – and quieted down. Sometime after that point, when she was still conscious but just _barely_ so, it stopped.

Years passed, she would swear, before something worse, something _unbearable_ happened. _The healing process._ But this time was different, completely so. She could not have seen the damage done to her back, could not have known she'd been whipped to the bone. _Would not yet realize the only thing keeping her alive was the magic she didn't know she had. _Cora knew, she knew that was why the healing process was so painful for the girl; the girl's magic rejected her own, fought it even as it tried to knit her back together. It was strong, but untrained; _easy to dominate._ Especially when the girl had been exhausted by punishment.

But now, as she pumped her magic into the girl's back, a powerful surge of the _pure_ magic washed over Cora, breaking the paralysis spell she'd cast on the girl. She was wild, screeching like a banshee and struggling, irritating her not-yet healed back. The pain was absolutely immense, like raking hot coals over the already burning wounds, bringing the fire back and _raging_; and Cora would know. She smiled, watching the girl trying to claw at her own back, pupils blown and eyes bloodshot. _Tainting a pure soul with dark magic was always painful… but only for the pure._

It would drive her insane eventually, _dark_. But only with enough doses, in large amounts. She'd never been angry enough with her damn _foolish_ daughter to drive her _SAVIOR _– she sneered, thinking about it, and barked at the guard to hold the writhing blonde down – completely to the brink; _but this time, maybe.._. That seemed to snap her out of her temporary insanity, eyes clearing suddenly as she grew quiet and looked up. _At Regina, no less. _Cora snarled then; her daughter _dared_ to show remorse NOW?! She should have known better, _lifting her skirts for the new stable boy!_ She didn't, in all actuality, _BUT SHE MIGHT AS WELL HAVE!_ She had been _shamelessly_ flirting with him, blathering on about some nonsense with _horses_, of all things. And the girl was _such_ a disappointment already, but to have fallen to such _low_ standards as the stable boy!? _She __**had**__ to be punished, _a punishment that she would NEVER forget.

And Cora was not blind, she saw the way the insult-to-all-that-was-of-royal-blood (_and she DID include herself in this category; she'd ALWAYS been meant for the crown_) looked upon her daughter, and how her disgrace of a child looked back upon the heathen-woman. _Disgusting._ This was as much a punishment for _Emma_ as much as for Regina. And both of them knew it. She smiled as she leaned back over the blonde, who blinked once more and realized her training partner, _her FRIEND_, was looming over her. Eyes widening, she'd hardly the time to yell before both he and that _bitch_ were upon her. The pain started, anew, and she couldn't breathe for the screaming, couldn't help it either. _It was TOO MUCH. _Too much to not scream, too much to allow her the sweet relief of unconsciousness.

"If you keep struggling, you'll end up crippling yourself, girl! _How will you protect your QUEEN then?_" The girl does not grow quiet, if anything she screams louder. But her thrashing stops, for the most part. When the deed is done, the girl grows quiet once more, but for soft, low whimpers of still-present agony. Cora stands, with a smile, and looks to her grief-stricken daughter, trembling where she stood. _So weak._ So disappointing. _Too bad the people adored her, otherwise it would be easy to rid the world of her._ "Let that be a reminder to you, of where your place is. I don't want to catch anything like that little _stunt_ you pulled back there, _EVER_ again!" She turned and strode off, only after getting a stiff nod from Regina. Emma remained silent, _for once_.

"_Emma!_" Regina finally let out a soft sob and moved forward, glaring at the guard as he backed away with remorse shining in his eyes. He didn't leave them alone however, foreseeing his usefulness. After all, who else could carry the woman back to her chambers? Regina was no fool, she knew why the man was there, but she couldn't and wouldn't help the slight stain of hatred coloring her _affections_ for the guard, considering what he'd just help her mother _do_ to the girl that might-as-well have been her sister. _Her savior._ "You there, guard!" She snapped suddenly, facing the man grimacing at the bloodied – but healed – skin of Emma's grotesquely scarred back. "Take her back to my chambers." His brow furrowed in confusion, but the glare she gave him brooked no room for argument. With a bow of his head and a low, _Yes milady_, he moved to lift the barely conscious young woman from the dirt.

Her head lolled there limply, blood from the slice on her not-yet-healed face still sluggishly weeping from the rather large wound. And he worried that maybe it was deep, dangerous. But she seemed unbothered by it, or at least still too busy trying to recover from her back to care about the first scar she'd be sporting on her face. And it was very much unlike the one Regina proudly wore upon her own face; hers was small, almost unnoticeable but for those times when she pursed her lips, but Emma's… well, Emma's would not be quite so insubstantial. It very nearly cost her an eye.

* * *

_Hot. Too hot. She was sweating, drowning in her own fluids. Sweltering. BOILING. _

"GETOFF!" She knew that sensation all too well, that of foreign magics trying to work into her body. She knew it so well that even delusional from blood-loss, she would and could mistake it for NOTHING but what it was_. Cora; that damned evil bitch was back for MORE!?_ She would kill Regina herself if she had to, just_ NO MORE OF THAT TORTURE!_ She was wild-eyed when she shot up from her reclining position on the bed she had yet to realize was not her own, but before she could snarl any accusations or rage about the fact that someone had been _touching_ her with magic, she felt the pain sere itself anew into her nerve endings and ended up doubled over in pain, trying and failing to hold in strangled groans. Every breath was another wave of agony choking her lungs, and every grimace of pain pulled at the tight, freshly-healed skin of her face.

One shaking hand was lifted to touch the scar and, foolishly, she felt tears spring up. This sad, fleeting thought died in her heart, one that cried out how a husband would _never_ find her now with her looks ruined. She fought that thought, though; who would want a barbaric knight for a wife in the first place? _No one, that's who._ What was the point getting herself worked up over it when she'd long ago given up her ability to find a husband?_ Hell_, her chances had been dashed and ruined for about nine years now, as soon as she given herself up for the sake of-

"Are you quite alright, Emma?" She grimaced as she looked up at the big, chocolaty eyes of her personal tormentor; _even if that was all very indirect…_ She was reaching out and Emma's sharp eyes caught shine on the tips of her fingers. She drew back as if struck with one of Cora's always-magically-charmed palms, snarl decorating her severe features now as she glared at the hand in question.

"_Magic!?_" Her eyes cut from the hand up to the concerned eyes, distrustful of them both even as the eyes lowered submissively and the hand was drawn back and held to an impressively sized chest – _f-for a woman that was fresh out of childhood, that is to say!_ "You _NEVER_ told me you had that vile-"

"It is because I knew you would react like that!" She cut in sharply. She flushed then, realizing that it was _incredibly_ rude of her, not very lady-like at all. She swallowed thickly, took a deep breath, and then began speaking again. "I cannot help what I was born with. I _can_ help you with it, though. If you'd allow me to." Emma snorted, crossing her arms and shaking her head.

"Why would I want your help? Why would I _ever_ consider allowing someone to use _magic_ against me!?" Regina was calm even as Emma started to get worked up again. Furious that she'd taken another beating like a dog, another beating made up of magic, an entirely-too-painful session of healing to follow it – furious that _fucking Regina_ and her ilk had basically ruined the whole of her life. For more years than she'd care to have been alive already.

"Because you cannot continue training if you are too injured to train," That shut her up, quickly. Because she would complain; she'd earned the right to quite a while ago, and she really just couldn't help the grumbles, but she was not one to just… _give up_ once she'd started something. She seemed to remember, at times (_she hoped this wasn't some fake memory implanted into her brain by her own hopes_) that her mother had been a very stubborn girl in her youth. She seemed to remember her father laughing about it, at least, ruffling her hair as he told her so. "And I _will_ need my knight some day, you should know." She tried to offer up a smile. Emma did not smile, but she did not sneer either. _And that was something, wasn't it?_

"Does _SHE_ train you?" There was no mistaking whom Emma was speaking of. And the scowl she sported just saying it certainly helped her deduce exactly who _SHE_ was. Regina didn't hesitate to shake her head frantically, the look she wore as closely related to a sneer without actually being one as it could be. She _did_ hesitate to speak after that, but only for a moment before she dove right in.

"But… I do… _dabble_ on my own, however," Grudgingly, Emma found herself shifting restlessly on the bed until she was comfortably against the headboard, watching Regina and giving her the room to approach. She paused for a moment before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. She made no moves to get closer, for which Emma was grateful. Committed she was to this plan of hers, this idea to be the knight for the sad-eyed future-Queen sitting less than five feet from her – that in no way meant that she delighted in the fact that said sad-eyed young girl had _magic_ (of ALL the things she could have been afflicted with, she just _had_ to have magic, didn't she?), because she did NOT. At. All. "And there's something you should know…"

_Oh goddess above, if she started saying something like Henry had magic now, she was just going to lose her-_

"You have magic."

_Shit._

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**This would have been longer… but then it wasn't. And I wish I knew where this was going buuuuut... well, this is where it is now. **


End file.
